singin' please don't, please don't pass me by
by celaenos
Summary: Santana buys tickets to see Rachel's performance on a whim, at least, that's what she tells herself. (Pezberry week, reacquainting after years apart prompt.)


**This is set 8 years in the future from when Rachel was in Funny Girl. It's based on the prompt, "reunited" for pezberry week. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

She buys the tickets on a whim; at least, that's what she tells herself.

She almost doesn't even go, offering the tickets to some of her servers while they look at her funny. None of them have ever heard her talk about the theatre. In the end, she knew she'd end up going. Afterwards, she finds herself out by the stage door—the Boston Opera House is fucking impressive—but almost leaves twice. (It's one thing to go see the show, it's another to actually see _her._) The third time, she finally decides to leave, this is stupid—Rachel isn't going to want to talk to her—and of course it's the very moment Rachel sees her.

Her face lights up and it twists something in Santana's stomach as she runs, pushing past girls waiting to get their programs signed and heads straight for Santana. Before she can get away, Rachel has latched onto her arm. "Santana!?" She grins at her happily, face full of shock. "I—did you see the show?" She asks. Santana only manages a nod, trying to discreetly pull her arm away. "Did you...why are you in Boston? Or—did you enjoy the show? I mean, gosh, I haven't seen you in _years._ I'm sorry." Suddenly, Santana's wrapped up into a tight hug, her arms stuck against her sides. Rachel pulls back, beaming up at her. _God,_ she's grown up. They both have she supposes.

"Your fans await Berry." Is the first thing she says to her in eight fucking years. Rachel grins, turning around. Her face falls a little and she looks back at Santana.

"I—are you in a hurry? Can you go for a drink or something? I—I really want to catch up, if you can just give me like ten minutes?" She sees Santana hesitate, "please?"

Santana sighs, somehow knowing if she saw Rachel that she would end up here. "Sure. I could drink."

"Ah!" Rachel throws her body against Santana again, she manages to get one arm around her this time. "I'm so excited to see you! Wait here, please Santana, don't go anywhere." She pleads. The desperation is evident and Santana feels like shit knowing Rachel thinks she'll ditch her. She _had_ been planning too, wanting to just slip away, but she can't _now_, the look on Berry's face will haunt her for life.

She nods. "Promise."

Rachel hesitates a second longer before straightening up and plastering on her show-smile. God, it's been ages since Santana's seen her do that. She feels nineteen all over again.

Rachel interacts with them perfectly—she's learned gratitude over the years it seems—paying attention to all of them. It's almost like watching her preform, it's not the Rachel she knows—_knew_—but it's similar. Santana almost tried to leaves again, but as if sensing it, Rachel turns to make sure she's still there right at that moment. She waves and holds up two fingers, asking for a bit more time. Santana just nods and jumps up and down in place a bit to warm herself up.

Rachel finally says goodbye to the last person waiting and comes over to Santana. She's hailed a cab and holds the door open for Rachel, who slides in immediately, shivering as much as Santana is. "I don't know of any places, maybe we can ask the cabbie. Sir? Do you know—"

Santana cuts her off, "take us to Muddy Waters." She directs before turning to Rachel, "I live here."

"In Boston? I knew you transferred to Boston University, I didn't know you were still in the area."

"Yep."

The rest of the cab ride is full of awkward silence.

When they get to the bar, and the woman behind it nods to her, and Rachel looks at her oddly. Santana finds herself squirming under Rachel's gaze. She _has_ slept with her, (Lisa? Lily? It definitely started with an L) but Rachel's questioning gaze makes her feel weird and awkward about it. She directs Rachel away from the stools surrounding the bar the minute they've got their drinks.

"You've slept with her." Rachel states, it's not a question, and there's a hint of a smirk on her face.

"What?" She feigns the shock. Rachel just smiles and takes a seat. She's different. Matured. She carries herself without the insecurities and selfishness she had eight years ago. It's disconcerting. Santana had expected the brash girl who she'd had to practically slap and pull out of bed on her opening night. She can't believe that's the last time she's seen her. Santana had flown in—and gotten a pigeon to the face for her troubles—and saved the goddamn day. Jesus, if it weren't for her, Rachel might have never even gotten her ass on that stage to begin with. "You gonna thank me for the Tony nomination?" She asks with a grin.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm the one who got your ass on that stage Berry and we both know it. Ergo, your nomination woulda never happened without me." She smirks, teasing and knowing Rachel is aware, and sips her drink. "Though, I hope you beat the bitch who won with a baseball bat, 'cause you deserved it. I'm glad you won the other ones, drama and something?" As if she doesn't know their names (Outstanding Actress in a Musical in both the Drama Desk and Outer Critics awards), and hadn't watched them both on a live stream from her computer, yelling out proudly and declaring to her roommate that her friend was fucking famous.

She almost spits her drink out all over the table when Rachel hums and says, "true, thank you. But no, I never _attacked_ her Santana. It was well deserved, I was twenty-one for gods sake, I've got plenty of time to win a Tony. The nomination was amazing enough, it's given me so many opportunities." It's the sincerity in her voice that is truly fucking astounding.

Santana stares at her, her mouth probably hanging wide open. "Who are you and what the fuck have you done with Berry? You just _thanked me_? You've got plenty of time? What the _fuck_?"

"I've grown up a lot in the last eight years Santana. I'm not going to lie and tell you I'm no longer ambitious, or selfish, or that I don't still adore being the center of attention; but... I've learned that other people's successes aren't my failures." She sips her drink and grins a little at what has to be Santana's mouth hanging wide open like an idiot. "And I was petrified that day; you were the only one who actually helped. So yes," she smiles warmly at her, "_thank you._"

"Fucking _shit_." Santana stammers, at a total loss for words.

"I see you haven't changed all that much." Rachel says, with an oddly fond look on her face.

"I have too." She protests. She _has_, but something about sitting here with Rachel fucking Berry makes her feel nineteen all over again. "I'm totally mature and shit now, I practically run a restaurant."

"Really?" It's the first time Rachel's actually looked shocked all evening. Apart from seeing Santana at the stage door.

Santana nods. "It's an inn too."

"You..." Rachel shakes her head, "wow, I—I didn't expect that. Do you like it? Do you _own_ it? We're twenty-seven! Do you _own_ a restaurant?"

"Nah, nothing like that I—well I mean it's basically mine if I want it someday, probably kinda soon." She sighs as Rachel looks at her, more confused than she was before. "I transferred to BU, you know that right?"

She nods. "You left practically the day after opening night, I—no one really heard from you after that." She drops her head down and picks at the edge of the straw in her glass. "I tried to call you a few times." She says quietly.

"Yeah I—I didn't, I didn't answer anyone." Santana admits. "It wasn't personal or anything."

Rachel looks like she wants to say something, argue, go off on a rant; and Santana steels herself. She's been expecting this since the moment Rachel caught her eye. Frankly, she's surprised it took this long.

But Rachel only purses her lips and waves for her to continue. Santana blanches for a minute, confused that she's not getting a lecture, but manages to nod. "Right, so... so I didn't really know what I wanted to do. On a whim I took a business course, and I had a date who took me to this restaurant—"

"Are you not with Brittany?" Rachel interrupts.

"What? _Britt?_ No I—I haven't seen Brittany since, not for years. Not since Glee club ended."

"You're..." Rachel looks really awkward for the first time that night. Santana thought they both had been before, but _this_ is definitely an awkward Rachel. "I thought you two got back together, I thought—we thought you guys were still together I guess."

"Who's we?" Santana sort of snaps, "and I'm single actually." She has no idea why she offers up this information, but she catches the smile that graces Rachel's lips for half a second. Suddenly, all she can think about is reading on twitter last year about Rachel Berry proudly coming out as bisexual after beautifully portraying one on a tv show. (She'd immediately gone and torrented the episode in question, and gotten hooked on The Good Wife because of it).

"Well—" Rachel draws her back to attention. "I'm still in contact with just Kurt really, though occasionally I still talk to Sam, and I usually see Puck when I go visit my dads. Other than that, I don't really see much of anyone either." She shrugs. "I was never close enough with anyone to really stay in much contact, and... I'm really busy. Also, I hear it happens. People from high school don't usually stay friends."

"Yeah." Santana downs the rest of her drink and signals to a waiter for another. Both of them sit there in stilted silence.

"So..." They both say a minute later. Rachel laughs, "go ahead."

"No, I..."

"Finish, you were telling me you were on a date?"

For reasons she doesn't understand and has no control over, Santana blushes. "Right, so—it, the lady who owns it, this old bitch, came downstairs and reamed into this waiter. He'd dropped a ton of shit and made some other really bad mistakes, handling money and crap, and she laid into him. I got lost looking for the bathrooms, well, I told her that, and I overheard it." Santana had been snooping around. Her date was kind of a bitch and she was bored. "I told her some crap I'd learned in my last business class, I don't even remember what it was. It was bullshit either way, she knows what she's doing. But, I dunno, she liked me I guess, and she was short a server, and a hostess and she hired me. Good thing too, cause I was broke. And, now she goes on lots of vacations and I pretty much run the place." It had taken a while to get to that, but it was nearly true at this point.

"That's—that's amazing Santana."

She shrugs, "well, it's not four musicals, three tv guest spots and a Sondheim concert but..." She trails off and Rachel's head whips around as she gapes at her. Shit. Now she knows Santana's at least googled her. Desperately needing a change of subject, Santana waves at the waiter and gets a third drink. "So... Maria again huh?" She says, "brings back some memories. You were good. Better than the first time. I was better than the bitch playing Anita though." She says with a smirk.

Rachel laughs, loudly, and holds onto Santana's forearm. "Sofia is a professional Santana, and she's a wonderful Anita." Santana pretends to pout a little and Rachel amends, "you were a fantastic Anita as well. I've never said otherwise."

"Damn straight."

"I thought you never did anything straight." Rachel jokes and this time, Santana _does_ choke on her drink.

"You joke now?"

"There's a lot you don't know about me anymore Santana." Rachel says quietly, and gets that odd look on her face again. It does something uncomfortable to Santana that she can't name, or doesn't want to. They sit in silence again. Santana tries to say something more than once, but doesn't get it out. Finally, Rachel yawns—the third time she's done so in the last few minutes—and apologizes. "I'm sorry, tours are much more exhausting than I realized."

"Oh shit, it's almost two, do you need to—"

Rachel nods. "I really should, I've got another show tomorrow. I'm sorry."

"No it's... I mean, I've actually got work in the morning too. I should go."

"We—I'm in town for two more days. I'd love to see where you work?"

Santana freezes. She'd barely been prepared to see Rachel _now_, she can't imagine seeing her again. At the same time, she doesn't quite want to say goodbye for the next eight years either. "Gimme your phone." She orders. Rachel passes it over and Santana plugs her number in, handing it back with a light smile. "Call if you have time." She'll never be able to call Rachel. If Rachel really wants to see her, then that's gonna be up to her.

They pay and walk out of the bar, Santana waves a cab over and starts to put Rachel into it when she's wrapped up in another hug. Rachel clings to her and Santana remembers how much of an affectionate drunk she was in high school. It makes her laugh, and she lightly wraps one arm around in reciprocation before using it to push Rachel into the cab.

"It was really good to see you Santana." She murmurers.

Santana smacks the top of the cab and closes the door. "Yeah, you too. Great job tonight."

Rachel's turns around and waves as the cab pulls away. Santana sticks up a hand until it's turned the corner, then wraps her arms around herself. It's freezing out, and she is not dressed warmly enough. She holds her arm out as another cab pulls onto the street and climbs into it quickly. Rattling off her address, she leans back against the seat and sighs, more exhausted than she's ever been.

…

…

The alarm blaring wakes her up bright and early the next morning. Santana responds by ripping it out of the wall and chucking it across the room. She's learned to have a bunch of cheep ones on hand (before, she'd gone through more than one broken cellphone) it's become a regular occurrence now that she's in charge and has to be up earlier.

Santana stumbles blearily through her morning routine, making coffee and chowing down a bagel on her way to the bus. She's already got a text message from one of the servers telling her that he's sick. Tom has called in sick like four times in the last month or so, and Santana's pretty sure she's going to fire him.

The minute she walks through the front door, Katie, the nineteen year old she's got working at the front desk sighs in relief. Which means clearly things have gone to shit and she's thrilled she no longer has to handle it by herself.

"Santana!" She jumps out of her chair. "The computer is broken again, it won't let me check any of the guests out, and no one made any pastries last night, and the yogurt they put out for breakfast was expired," she looks about ready to cry, and if Santana didn't like her so much she would slap her. "And the man in 203 is really mad, I'm not sure what about exactly. He was yelling at me and he wants to talk to you." Katie takes a deep breath and shakes her head, steeling herself. Its why Santana decided she liked her. She's young, but she can handle a lot more than most of the other girls who flit in and out working the desk. "And Tom called of again, and Ashley's car won't start, she's trying to find a ride, and only Meatball is in the kitchen. I dunno where ET is."

Santana chugs the remains of her coffee in one fell swoop and drops the empty container in the trash. "Okay, call that fat fuck up in IT and tell him if he can't get this computer working within the next hour, he is going to order a new one. It's crashed way too many times and I'm sick of losing business because of it. But first, call Kathy and tell her to pick up Ashely on her way in, tell Tom _he_ is responsible for finding someone to cover his shift and he knows it, give him everyone's numbers and tell him to call back after he has called _all _of them. If no one can come in, today might be the day you finally get trained for the floor and I'll cover the desk." Santana tucks her bag under the desk, she's not even going to bother trying to go up to her office, she's never going to get up there today at this rate. Which means she's _not_ going to be able to get back to the bitch of a woman who keeps calling about her daughter's wedding, in _two fucking years_. Santana is all for efficiency and she likes to cover all her bases whenever they do catering events, but fuck all if she needs to know what color napkins that bitch wants right fucking now before she's even technically engaged. "I'm going to get another cup of coffee and find out why Meatball is prepping the kitchen by himself, but I think this is the day ET has a later class and he should be here by the time lunch starts. When 203 comes down again, get me."

Katie nods and grabs the phone, already carrying out Santana's orders. And that's why she likes her. If it had been Hadley or Josh they would have asked a million questions and taken forever to get a few simple things done. Katie will have called everyone in a matter of minutes, and she's already made a fresh pot of coffee. Gratefully, Santana pours herself a large cup and adds some sugar, taking a sip far too soon and burning her tongue. Her phone rings and she nearly drops the coffee on her legs as well.

"Fuckin'—shit, hello?" She mutters without looking at the caller ID. She has a separate number for anyone work related.

"Santana?" Rachel's voice crackles through, "are you alright?"

"What? Berry? I'm—fuck," she drops the coffee after all, "Meatball watch where you're going!" She yells at him. He has the decency to look ashamed.

"Santana? What's... are you eating spaghetti?" Rachel asks.

"What? No, Berry what do you need I'm kind of busy right now." Santana says tersely. Katie's rounded the corner to the waiter station and is waving at her.

"I'm—I'm sorry to call at a bad time I was just... well you said to call and I—"

Katie's waving becomes exaggerated and now Santana can see the large, angry, red faced man standing up at the desk—room 203 she's sure. "I gotta go Berry." She snaps and hangs up the phone to go deal with yet another crisis before it's even ten am. How the fuck did this become her life?

…

…

Santana only remembers Rachel even called her after the lunch rush. They had gotten slammed (and Tom had never gotten someone to cover him, his ass is so fired) Santana had shoved poor Katie into busing and getting drink orders, while she answered the phones. She had thought she understood the stupidity that was humanity before, but she never truly had until she started working in costumer service.

People were fucking idiots. And they were rude.

She only even remembers Rachel called because she finally gets the time to look at her phone—and does actually get up to her office—in the downtime between lunch and dinner. Rachel sent her a text message shortly after Santana had hung up on her.

_'Sorry to call at a bad time, I wasn't sure of your work hours. It was really nice to see you last night. I hadn't realized how much I missed you. If you do have some free time, I'd love to see you again before I leave.'_

Well shit. Now she feels like an asshole.

Santana should call back the bitch mother of the bride, or get to any of the other twenty-three messages blinking at her from her desk phone; instead, she redials the number Rachel called her on.

"Hi Santana." Rachel answers warmly, if not a little tentatively.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she says sincerely, "we got slammed there was...there was a lot of random shit to deal with. Sorry." She repeats. It's weird feeling on edge with Rachel. It's weird that it doesn't feel like talking to _Rachel_. Berry has never been easy, but she's never been this foreign to Santana. This woman is not the same eighteen year old Santana lived with for nearly a year. It's freaking her out.

"It's alright, I sort of figured. I mean, we worked at the diner together. I remember how things can go."

"Right...God I almost forgot about that." Santana chuckles. "We're much more high class here. This is goddamn fine dining."

"I'd love to see it."

"Come for dinner." Santana offers immediately. "I mean, if you've got time, tonight, or tomorrow. Gotta eat right?"

"I'd love that. Can, is tonight okay?"

Santana doesn't even bother covering the phone's speaker with her hand, just holds it away from her face. "Katie!" She yells downstairs, knowing all the costumers have left, it's just Kathy, and Katie doing their side-work. Ashley never showed when Kathy tried to pick her up. That bitch is close to getting fired too. "What do the books look like at," she turns back to the phone, "when do you have to be at the theatre?"

"My call time is six."

"What do the books look like at five?" She yells back down.

"There's just a two top." Katie yells back.

"Make a reservation for one," Santana yells, then lowering her voice slightly and talking more to Rachel, "a VIP."

Rachel laughs. "Thanks."

"Don't worry Berry, I told you we're high class here. We've even got more than one vegan option. You're safe."

"I'm..." Rachel sighs, in that dramatic way Santana remembers and finally, something feels normal about all this. "I'm no longer a vegan." She states this like she's just told Santana she's got cancer. "It... the lifestyle of a vegan is very hard to maintain, and with me working so much it—it wasn't ending up being very healthy. I'm a vegetarian now."

It's the seriousness and hint of shame that really make Santana want to burst out laughing. Of all the things—whatever, Rachel being overly dramatic about some stupid crap is something she can handle. Something that makes her feel like this is Rachel Berry, the idiot who wore giraffe sweaters and knee socks. The girl who tried to get them to dedicate a glee meeting specifically about her vocal range when Mr Schue was sick one time.

"Well, I'm incredibly disappointed in you Berry. How dare you abandon the chickens like that? Do you eat real ice cream now! Has rocky road graced those lips? I'm going to the bloggers about this, we're gonna kick up a storm."

Rachel laughs and then whines a little, "don't make fun of me. I grappled for weeks about it."

It's the fact that Santana can totally picture that that stops her laughter. "Relax Berry, our vegetarian stuff is way better anyway. And I don't trust people who don't eat ice cream, so you've just gone up in my book."

"Well... thank you I suppose."

"Alright, I've got to go call back a crazy woman before she combusts, I'll see you tonight."

"Okay, bye Santana."

She hangs up and prepares herself as she dials back Mrs... shit, she's forgotten the woman's name. Whatever, winging it is half of her job, and what she's good at anyway.

…

…

Rachel arrives early. Santana had known somehow this would happen, and changed the reservation to 4:30 in preparation. She's already ordered her best waitress, Christine, to give her absolutely everything she wants. Since it's so early, and the dinner rush doesn't really kick in until around six, Santana hangs out with Rachel for most of her meal. She finds herself recounting her day to an attentive Rachel. She's become a much better listener in the last eight years.

"Sorry, I'm rambling." Santana finally says once Rachel's nearly finished eating. "What... so how long are you on tour for? Do you like it?"

"Yes, and no. I wanted to get to travel, but, you really don't get to do much sightseeing. It's mostly just hotels and a different theatre every few weeks. It's—much more tiring than I initially thought. I miss New York."

"When is your run over?"

"Next month actually. We've got Chicago for a week next, then New Orleans which I'm very excited about, I've never really been to the south at all, then Seattle and we're done."

"Do you know what you're doing after? Or not yet."

Rachel shakes her head and sips her water—Christine immediately fills it right back up. "Well, I've been offered two things actually, I'm trying to decide which one I want." She drops back into her seat and smiles at Santana, it makes her stomach do weird flippy things it hasn't done since high school and Britt. Santana ignores it. "A revival of Thoroughly Modern Millie is in the works, I've been basically offered Millie which, is... an amazing role and I would love it, and it's back in New York and..." She trails off.

"And? Sounds awesome," Santana shrugs, "do it."

"Well, I've also been talking with a writing team, they're sort of up and coming and they've written an original musical and... they want me for the staring role."

"Oh, sweet. So, you're gonna do that?"

"I don't know." She sounds pained. "They... it's, it's sort of amazing. The script," she sighs wistfully, "and, oh God the score Santana, it's _beautiful._"

"So what's the problem?"

"It... well there is a reason people are making less and less original work. It's much harder. Revivals and re-imaginings of big movies are safer. And, it would be a lot less money, they just don't have the funds to pay what has become my usual salary, which isn't huge mind you, but... it's significant enough that I've become accustomed to some things and not needed to worry about money. Which, if I took this job, I might. Well, I'd need to dip into my savings, it's... it's manageable, I could do it. I just don't know if I want to. I—Millie is, Millie would be more money, and in New York and an almost guarantee of a Tony nomination."

"I thought you said you didn't care about the Tonys anymore." Santana jokes.

Rachel looks at her, appalled. "Santana, the day I say 'I don't care about a Tony' is the day I give you expresses permission to get a gun and shoot me in the head with it. Of course I care about the recognition from my peers and betters. Of course I want a Tony, I've _matured_, not become a pod person."

Santana lets out a loud laugh as Rachel honest to God pouts across from her, then glances down at her phone and panics. "You're late?" Santana asks. Rachel nods. "Shit, sorry."

"No, I've got time, I've just got to go—now." She looks apologetically at Santana who just waves her off.

"It's fine. Go dazzle or whatever."

"I—I'll need to eat tomorrow too." Rachel phrases like a question.

Santana just smiles, because she'd frankly been expecting this. "You've already got a lunch reservation set up for 11:30, right when we open. I figured you can blab on all day."

Rachel glares, but Santana can see the smile peaking out through it. "See you tomorrow." Rachel says, as she stands and dons her coat.

"Break a leg Berry."

…

…

Santana should have known Rachel wouldn't be able to sit around in her hotel room for long. She walks downstairs (bitching about Tom to her boss on her cellphone) and finds Rachel standing and chatting warmly with Katie. She glances at the clock, it's not even eleven yet.

"In high school? Really?" Katie asks, shocked. "What was she like?"

Before that disaster can occur, Santana grabs Rachel's arm. "Like I am now, Katie don't you have a job to do?" Santana pointedly glares at the still broken computer.

"Right, sorry. It was really nice to meet you Miss Berry, you we're hilarious on Veep."

"Thank you." Rachel's got her 'talking to a fan' face plastered on and Santana wants to gag.

"We'll be upstairs, handle everything unless something is on fire and have Meatball bring up some of the pasta special once it's done, I'm starving and Rachel's here for lunch."

"Is Meatball a human being?" Rachel asks as they head back upstairs.

"Meatball is a cook named Justin. He's an idiot."

"Why do you call him Meatball?"

Santana pauses, "honestly? Can't remember. Everyone's called him that for ages. Want the tour of the place?" She asks. Rachel nods vigorously and Santana goes through the whole spiel, (built in 1833, home of a banker, didn't have any children, wife lived to be 92, turned into an inn and restaurant in 1886, Teddy Roosevelt and Jean Harlow stayed here, blah, blah, blah) and shows her three of the empty guest rooms before bringing her back to Santana's office. "And she basically lets me run the place while she goes to Europe or wherever." She finishes with a shrug.

"This is amazing Santana. I'm so proud of you."

Santana sort of gives her a one shoulder shrug and sits down, uncomfortable with the praise and with who it's coming from. She's saved—sort of—by Meatball coming up into the office with two plates of pasta.

"Damn Lopez, your new girlfriend is hot."

Santana's eyes widen for half a second before she rips the plates away, sets them down on her desk and glares at him. "Meatball, do you _like_ your job?"

"Not really." He shrugs, "why, you got a better offer?"

"I've got some unemployment if you want it."

"I was just giving your girlfriend a compliment, being _nice_." He protests, his eyes still raking all over Rachel's body.

"Go fucking get the quiche made, it's Thursday, all those old ladies come and order it today. And don't just make it three cheese, actually put some veggies in it." She snaps. He finally looks back up at her. "And she is _not_ my girlfriend, and you aren't allowed to talk to her."

"Hey, if your not dating Lopez, can I get your number?" He smirks at Rachel.

"How do you even know I'm single?" Rachel asks, crossing her arms and appraising him.

"Are you?"

"I am." She states calmly, and Santana catches the quick glance she shoots over at her, "but I have much higher standards than someone called Meatball who leers at people like they're boobs on a stick. I hope you're a better cook than you appear."

"He _is_. It's the only reason we keep him around. That, and he does a funny lip synching thing to that song 'The Jackal' when you get him drunk enough. Get lost Meatball." She orders. He fucking salutes and grins at her and Santana just shakes her head. He's a disgusting asshole, but he's also a weirdly entertaining dude and a great fucking cook. "Sorry about him," she says to Rachel, and motions for her to have a seat. "He's a dick, but he's harmless. And he really _is_ an awesome cook, you're gonna love this. And I'm gonna love making him stay until way past closing and cleaning the entire kitchen, and all the ovens all by himself."

Rachel laughs, "well, I'm glad you enjoy making your underlings behave."

"Underlings? Jesus Rachel."

Rachel lets out a moan that causes Santana's entire body to shut down. "This is _decadent_. I take it all back, give me his phone number."

It takes a second before Santana can speak and she's not proud of it at all. "Not on your life." She chokes out. Rachel just beams at her and continues eating—and making sounds that are better suited for the bedroom. Which makes Santana think about Rachel in the bedroom, which makes her entire body hot, which makes her feel dirty and embarrassed. "So..." she clears her throat, "you were deciding what to do with the rest of your life last night, come to any decisions?" She asks, needing to get Rachel talking and not moaning.

The content smile instantly drops from her face. "No." She admits. "I don't know. I'm—no."

"Well, what's the original one about?"

Rachel's face lights back up and it effects Santana more than the moaning did, which is weird. "Well, it's about a young woman, about to turn thirty and her friends are throwing her this big party, because her boyfriend is going to propose. It's supposed to be a surprise, but she finds the ring beforehand and starts panicking, she's not sure if she wants to marry him or not. And she sort of reflects on her life, mostly the last two years of dating him, but also on her relationship before him, her old girlfriend, whom she's still friends with. That's very clearly the starring role, but the ensemble has a lot to do, and it gives me a feeling similar to... Rent maybe with the friendships and such. I don't know, I love the music, I'd get to sing a couple of amazing songs."

"It sounds like you want to do it." Santana tells her. Watching Rachel get excited about something, passionate, it was always one of the things Santana had liked about her. Even when it was annoying. Rachel only shrugs. "So what happens? Does she marry him?"

Rachel smiles, "I'm not telling you the ending. You'll have to come see for yourself."

"If you do it I will." Santana answers without hesitation. Rachel's eyes shoot up to meet hers and Santana almost freezes and looks away. She's about to shrug, make a joke, something, but the questioning look in Rachel's eyes is painful and somehow she knows she won't be able to live with herself if she makes it worse. She doesn't say anything else—can't—but she just smiles, letting Rachel know she means it.

"Millie is fantastic too. It's also the story of a young woman finding herself and finding love. And I'd get to wear jazz age clothes. And it also has some amazing songs, 'Gimme, Gimme is... ugh I'd love to sing that onstage every night."

"Well, I'd come see that too." Santana says with a shrug. "They both sound good to me."

"I know! That's the problem!"

Santana polishes off her pasta and shoves her dish out of the way, moving Rachel's too. They're both quiet for a minute or so, but it's the first time silence between them has felt comfortable rather than awkward.

"So, you said you still talk to Lady Hummel? How's he? Still banging the Warbler?"

"Blaine? Oh my God," she laughs, "no, they broke up years ago. I haven't seen him since...hum, I think they broke up while I was in Newsies. It might have been after. He's dated a few people since, I hated his last boyfriend Aaron. He's seeing someone now, but I haven't met him yet, it's fairly recent I think."

Santana bites the side of her cheek, "and you?" There isn't really a way to avoid this topic, though they've been doing pretty well with it so far.

Rachel smiles softly and looks down. "I'm single, have been for a while. It's—it's hard, I'm always working."

"No torrid romances to gush about? I recall knowing way more about you and Finn than I ever wanted to, I'm surprised Berry, you really have grown up."

"It's less fun when the people you date are fodder for twitter."

"Ah, well..." she shrugs, "yeah I guess that would suck."

"It's only gotten worse since I came out, which is also a phrase I hate; I was never _in_, I just don't find my sexuality an interesting topic of conversation. It became one for the role I suppose." She shrugs and Santana thinks she manages a nod. "Before, it was just speculation with any males I was seen with, now, unless I'm with someone who is under the age of ten, or old enough to be my parent, everyone speculates whether or not we're secretly starting a new romance. No one cared before I did TV, which is one thing I love about the Broadway community, less gossip in general."

Santana doesn't really know how to respond to that, so she just says, "well, you were really good on TV, so they can suck it."

"You saw?"

"Someone I knew from high school is on some of the most talked about shows? Besides SVU, Rachel that show needs to die, though you played a very nice hooker. Of course I'm gonna watch. I'll bet everyone did. Tina's probably still seething with jealously."

Rachel chuckles lightly and smacks Santana's arm. "Be nice."

The minute she touches Santana, the room gets hotter. Rachel moves her hand away immediately and that's when Santana knows she's feeling it too. Suddenly, desperately, Santana does not want her here anymore. She's not blind, Rachel is attractive, she's always been, she just hid it under children's clothing and an abrasive personality. The kids clothes are long gone, and she's still Rachel, but she has definitely mellowed out over the last eight years. And the flirty look currently slipping onto her face is something Santana has never seen directed at her before. This was a mistake.

Thank fuck, her phone rings and she practically jumps for it, knocking some of her papers onto the floor. Rachel bends to get them, and Santana gets a view from an angle that is going to be seared into her brain for life. She gulps. "Hello?"

"Santana? I know you said to not bother you but, Mrs Meyers is here and she really insists on talking to you." Katie says.

Mrs Meyers, that was the bitch's name. She never did figure it out yesterday. "Shit. Okay, I'll be right down, get her a glass of water or something." She orders and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Rachel, I have to—"

"It's okay, I know you're busy, and we've been talking for hours."

Santana glances at the clock and realizes it's true, it's almost dinnertime. "I—you leave tomorrow right?" She asks. Rachel nods. "What time's your flight?"

"Eleven." Rachel says sadly.

Santana's got a big event tonight, there's no way she'll be able to meet Rachel again after her show. And she's got to get downstairs and deal with this crazy woman before she actually makes Katie cry. This can't be the last time she sees Rachel, not awkward and rushed like this. "I—"

Rachel shushes her and stands, pulling Santana's face down and kissing her cheek before wrapping her into a hug. It feels, final and desperate and something tugs at Santana's gut. She wraps her arms around Rachel. "We're open early," she says quickly, "if you've got time stop by on your way to the airport, I'll have them make you lunch."

Rachel pulls back and studies her, her arms still holding onto Santana. She's not sure what Rachel's thinking, or what she's decided, but a smile breaks onto her face and she nods. "Okay." Rachel kisses her again—very _not_ on her cheek, practically in the corner of her lips—and brushes her arm lightly as she picks up her purse. "See you tomorrow." She says in a voice that can really only be considered seductive but can't possibly be coming out of Rachel. And it can't be directed at her. Santana can only manage a nod as Rachel leaves her office.

"Fuck." She whispers to herself.

…

…

Santana gets home late, and she calls Megan, the woman she's slept with on three separate occasions in the last...four months? She can't remember. They'd both been pretty upfront about wanting a casual situation. Santana downs two shots of vodka in quick succession, and knocks out a beer while she waits for Megan. She's felt jumpy the entire day, running back through everything with Rachel.

When Megan comes through the door, Santana pretty much attacks her. Megan laughs, "you're horny."

"No talking." Santana declares, and pulls off her dress.

Sex with Megan is easy, and it's _good_. This was her problem, it's just been too long and she's focusing on the fact that Rachel's told the world that she's bi. She's making something that's _not_ into a big deal.

When she's kissing her way down Megan's stomach and she moans in such a way that makes her think of Rachel that afternoon, she pauses. Megan only laughs and pulls her up, kissing her and flipping them over, "me first." She declares.

Santana sighs and shivers when Megan settles herself between her legs. She closes her eyes and tries to focus, and pretty soon, Megan's got her in an incredibly good place, just about there, Megan flicks her tongue again at the exact right time and Santana whimpers. "Fuck." She hears Megan laugh and pull away a bit. She whines, "don't stop." The next couple of seconds send her over the edge, but when she lifts her head, it's not Megan she sees, it's Rachel.

And if that doesn't just kill her orgasm.

…

…

Rachel shows up at nine-thirty.

Santana's had lunch made up for her and sitting in the hot box for ten minutes. She jumps when Katie calls her, and bites her fingernail, a habit she's kicked a long time ago. She has to stop herself from running down the stairs. The minute Rachel sees her, her whole face lights up and Santana has to stop herself from grimacing.

"Hey." She says softly, "I've got your food."

Rachel's face falls a little and Santana wants to kick herself. She doesn't know how to do this. She hasn't seen Rachel in _eight years,_ and it's not like they are suddenly about to become best pals. They live in different states, it's _Rachel_ for God's sake.

"Thank you." Rachel says, her bags are at her feet, so she doesn't have a cab waiting outside. She'd intended to talk for a bit. A large part of Santana desperately wants that, but the more in charge part does not.

"I—" she sighs, "wait here, I'll get it."

"Santana..."

She walks away, into the kitchen but she doesn't turn around fast enough. She sees the disappointment all over Rachel's face. She gets the food, packed up and still warm and hesitates before going back to Rachel. It's not like her—at all—but she grabs a piece of paper and scribbles quickly on it.

_'You should do the original play. You know you're good enough to risk it, plus that's got Tony all over it too. Let me know when it's opening night.'_

She sighs, and shoves it unceremoniously into the box with the food. Fucking _Rachel Berry_. She grabs the box and heads out to the girl herself, standing there looking smaller than she has in a long time. "I helped this time, so Meatball doesn't get all the credit, and you've already got my number." She jokes. It's the most flirting she's done on purpose since she's seen Rachel, and Rachel's gaze shoots up in shock. She smiles after a second, and immediately steps into Santana's personal space.

"Thank you."

Santana shrugs and passes the box over. "Katie, call her a cab." She says without taking her eyes off Rachel.

"I already had her call, it should be here any minute."

"Oh," Santana's disappointed, but she shouldn't be surprised. She's been a bitch. "I'll wait outside with you." She offers.

They find themselves sitting on the front steps, Rachel's two (very large) bags and incredibly stuffed purse beside them, and her food propped on her knees. Santana can't think of anything to say that doesn't sound stupid, so she just sits there. Rachel seems content with the silence. Minutes later, the cab pulls up, and Santana grabs the bigger bag, hauling it up and into the trunk of the cab.

"I—" They both begin, and laugh.

"Sorry, I—it was really nice to see you again Santana."

"Yeah, it was," she picks at a piece of lint on her dress, "you've got my number, and...I've got yours." She adds.

Rachel nods. "I know we're both not great at keeping in touch but, I'll try."

Santana smiles warmly at her and delights in the way Rachel's face lights up. "Me too. Knock 'em dead Berry."

"Don't fire Tom, he's having problems with his girlfriend." Rachel orders.

Santana blanches for a minute. "What? How... you never even met Tom, how do you..."

"Katie told me, she's a lovely girl, and Tom sounds like he's having a rough time and—"

Santana cuts her off, "Tom's a dick. His girlfriend _should_ dump him."

"Santana!" Rachel chastises. "Promise me."

"Why do you care about some asshole you never even met?" She asks. Rachel just shoots her a look. "Fuck, never mind. Whatever Berry sure, unless he does something incredibly shitty I won't fire him okay?"

"Thank you." Rachel says primly and sets her food down in the backseat. The cabbie is starting to look a little annoyed and Santana sighs.

"You're much less annoying than I remember." Santana jokes. It's somehow the thing that causes Rachel to beam and slip her arms around Santana's waist. This time, she doesn't hesitate before reciprocating the hug.

"I've missed you too Santana."

Santana unwraps her arms at the pointed throat clearing coming from the cabbie. She glares at him and he steps back, dropping down into his seat with a frown. She hears Rachel chuckle as she slides into the cab. Santana bends down and smiles at her one last time, about to tell her about the note in her food, or just say goodbye, when Rachel reaches up and places the lightest kiss onto her lips. It catches her so off guard she almost thinks she's imagined it, until Rachel pulls back and directs the cab driver to go, pulling the door closed and smiling at Santana without a hint of embarrassment. Santana just stares at her and backs up just a bit as the cab pulls away and Rachel waves.

"Fuck."


End file.
